The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1887-04-01

books were obtained, and every mo-
ment Gyp could spare she spent over
thcirpages.
Passages from the poets of the past,
as well as those of the present, grew IA
miliar to her lips, and as she compre-
pended the grandeur and beauty her
soul grew, and the chrysalis changed
into winged creature. Down through
the meadow at the foot of steep ridge
there ran brook, and by its side I'M
der sweeping oak was Gyp's special
retreat. Whenever the letters chafed
too roughly, here she flew for solace,
and when the brightness as she
termed it, entered her life, this spot
was still her refuge. Sitting there she
read aloud one of Tennyson's poems,
and as she finished was startled by
hearing avoice above her exclaim:
"Permit me to thank you for the
pleasure received in your rendering of
that exquisite gem;'' and glancing up
ward she beheld stranger in her do
main.
II was not aware | had listener"
she replied, arising for departure
''Pray stayr' he said. II was sitting
on rock sketching that bit of scenery
yonder when I heard your voice, and
it sounded so pathetic in the green
wood that ! could not think of retiring.
viii you look at these?" he inquired,
stepping across the brook and opening
his portfolio.
care they real pictures of nature?"
she asked, as he spread them in view.
perhaps you viii recognize some of
the scenery" he rejoined.
"Why, it's around Shelbyvillem she
exclaimed, artlessly. "Here is the old
church and cliffs beyond"
He listened in an amused manner at
her naive remarks, regarding her as a
child. Then low exclamation escaped
her, and look of blank establishment
was quickly succeeded by flush of in
dignant surprise, for here-yes, she
surely could not be mistaken-was a
picture of herself, seated under an old
oak, with hands tightly claspinga book
and eyes seemingly peering into the
mysteries of the future.
'Let me make my peace he hastily
exclaimed, ''by offering you the sketch,
and confessing this is not the first time
l have trespassed on what Judge to be
your rightful domain. Will you grant
pardon?"
"Since you bestow the cause of
ofense, suppose l should" she re-
piled, examining the sketch the while.
He smiled, then took up the neglect
ed book.
"You are lover of Tennyson, Isee,"
he said.
eyes, admire all he has written"
"You have wonderful gift" he re-
joined. HAS no one ever told you
SOP"
''No," she answered, shortly, not
willing q stranger should know how
desolate her life was.
"Women with voices inferior to
yours have made for themselves a
name. With alttle training you would
soon repay all efforts made in your be-
half"
II have no friends" she replied, cat
least none who would have confidence
enough in my ability to give encour-
agement. -
Then with gentle questioning, for
Gyp, despite her sixteen years, was but
a simple child, he drew from her the
story of her sad life. Harold King
listened with strange sympathy to this
childish recital, revealing to his cult
waited mind as it did the longing of the
soul beside him for something higher
and better than she had known.
Then, in more beautiful language
than she had ever heard, he drew glow
ing pictures of the world about which
she had dreamed so much; told of the
heroic lives of men and women; of
the grandeur of natures scenery, of
plain and mountain and shore, and
poor Gyp listened entranced, thrilled
with strange delight. AS she went
up the path at eventide, her face glow
ing with the reflections of joyous
thoughts, she met the farmer.
"What has come to the grip" he
muttered. CLOCKS as if she had seen a
spirit.
$50 I have" thought Gyp. "A
spirit from the outer world.
But the brightness died out of her
face as she heard Mrs. Blym's usual
complaint:
"Always a totin' book nowadays!
IF I'd had my way Jeremiah would a
thought twice before he'd give in to
your foolishness, and spent all that
money that ought to have been saved
for Sophronia AIMS outfit when she
marries the school-master. But be off
an pail the cowsr
Out in the stillness-awav from Mrs.
Blym's voice-bright hopeful thoughts
returned, and sweet prophecy filled
her soul, that somehow the joy of the
future would yet atone for the bitter
ness of the past.
y
Down came the autumn leaves,
brown, crimson and golden, lying in
heaps as they fell, and Gyp's nimble
fingers soon trimmed her wreath
with the bright colors woven in artistic
taste.
"Let me crown you, oh, woodland
nymph?' laughed gay voice, and the
wreath was deposited over the rebel
lious curls. Doubtless you recognize
the speaker as a companion on for
mer occasion.
las this is to be our last meeting,
let me have a memento. Sit still one
momentr'
Rapidly the hand of the artist moved
over the canvas, and as rapidly there
grew beneath his touch the bright hope
full face of Gyp, crowned in wood
leaves, with the rings of hair straying
in confusion.